


Playing With Fire

by rlu1



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlu1/pseuds/rlu1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was gentle on the surface but a thunderstorm turmoiled underneath her sweet smiles and light touches. She liked to mix wrath and wonder. She liked to play with fire. And she just couldn't forget his blue eyes. Carol/Khan pairing. Rated M for violence, language, and sexual content.</p>
<p>Disclaimer for entire piece: This is a work of fanfic containing characters which are a part of the Star Trek world and, in particular, the world of Star Trek: Into Darkness. I do not own this world or these characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only.</p>
<p>Also, just a note that this fanfic can be seen as potentially AU as I will not necessarily be sticking close to the Star Trek canon. So please keep that in mind. For instance, time goes by at a much different pace in this fanfic than in the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

_Carol Wallace. That was her name. She had never introduced herself to him. But he had heard her introduce herself to members of the crew, eyes sparkling and smile wide._

_Blue eyes, golden silk hair, soft lips, sharp jaw. That was her face. Attractive._

_Even more attractive because she happened to be a weapons specialist. Not that he needed one necessarily. His intelligence of weaponry far surpassed the knowledge of any ordinary human's. But her interest in weaponry indicated that a fire roiled underneath her sugary surface. Everyone thought that she was innocent. Sweet little Carol. Oh, she was gentle on the surface but a thunderstorm raged underneath her smiles and light touches. He could read her like a book, a fascinating, mysterious, challenging book. He would bring out the darker side of her nature - she would find herself wanting to help him._

_She could satisfy his hunger, his longing, and his greed. With her slender figure and steady legs. He felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle at the thought. Touch. The taste of human flesh in a more enveloping way than bloodshed could provide. The scent of embraces and sweat and bodily fluids. He had been deprived of the pleasures of life for three-hundred years. The lump that tumbled in the back of his chest served as a constant unnerving reminder. He needed sex. Among other desires._

_It was settled then. He was going to have her._

_A smile flickered on his lips._

_Her name wasn't really Carol Wallace. Wallace had been her mother's name._

_Her real name was Carol Marcus and she was the daughter of the Starfleet Admiral Alexander Marcus. She had said her name was Carol Wallace so that she could gain access aboard the USS Enterprise without any questions. So she could erase the genes that ran through her veins. Wash away the blood. And so her father wouldn't find out she was there. He would be furious if he knew. He would slap her across the face. He would spit and curse and pull at her silky hair._

_But Carol was not the only intruder onboard the ship. The second intruder was John Harrison. He had blue eyes, tight lips, and a voice that rumbled of rainstorms and brimstone._

_She had made eye contact with him once. With John. His eyes were sad. Swollen. As if he had been crying. Very cold and sharp as glass._

_In that moment, she had wanted to reach out and touch him. Erase the red around his lashes. Shatter the ice. Untie the tension in his chin. Because she knew what it was like to be hurt and so angry that your innards could explode and eat you whole. But he was imprisoned in a glass chamber and she couldn't reach him._

_In the next moment, she ran to the bathroom and threw up the contents of her dinner. Dirty. Had to expel the toxins. The toxins that simmered in John Harrison. He was a criminal and a killer. And Carol was sweet and gentle. Clean._

_But she was also a weapons specialist. She liked to mix wrath and wonder. She liked to play with fire._


	2. Chapter 2

Memories of laughter turned to nightmares. Pushed to the recesses of the mind. Black smoke slowly filling lungs and burning from the inside out.

Carol was ten years old. Her gingham dress was blowing in the California wind as her father twirled her in his arms. Her mother was picking roses and singing, but paused to shower her young daughter with kisses. The sunshine teased Carol's gold-blonde hair and melted laughter and love into one. Images of Father and Mother hugging, smiling, and holding Carol tight and warm.

But the clouds rolled in and obscured the sun, throwing shadows against the walls and lighting dampness in the soul. Carol heard screaming and chilled tears calling her out of bed and down the hallway. Her father held her mother in his hands. Hands erased of love. Hands holding Mother's delicate hair. Hair tearing from scalp. But Mother didn't cry, didn't flinch, her eyes calm, her hands still at her sides. And Father kept hissing and spitting and bellowing and sobbing, "What is his name? What is his name? How long have you been fucking him? TELL ME! TELL ME, YOU SLUT!" Mother's lips remained closed until Father turned on his daughter. He pulled Carol's pretty golden hair and threw her against the wall. Carol saw stars. The galaxy spread out across her eyes and obliterated her mind into a sea of painful purple, blue, and green. Then Mother screamed and Carol ran.

As the sun rose above the clouds (but how could the sun continue to rise now?), Carol set the garden on fire with a match and hid behind a tree as she watched the rose bushes burn. The smell of deteriorating pollen and petals tickled Carol's nose and brought a flicker of a smile to her lips. Then Father came running and the hose that doused the passionate flames flooded Carol's body until her eyes overflowed with tears.

The next day, Carol was on a plane to London, her mother's fingers running gently over the bruises hidden under her silky hair. Yet the bruises had sunk into her soul. Etched her young heart. She knew that mark could not be rubbed away. Nor the smell of burning pollen and petals.

She lived in London with her mother for many years. And as soon as she graduated from high school, Carol went to university with only one thought in mind: she was going to become a weapons specialist.


	3. Chapter 3

John Harrison was a fiction. A symbol and constant reminder of the nightmare that had become his life.

His real name was Khan and he was a superhuman and a ruler.

_Had been_ a ruler. But that time was a memory. Now he was merely a puppet at the hands of Admiral Alexander Marcus. He had failed his crew. The seventy-three beings who he would do any and everything for.

He and his crew had been slumbering in suspended animation. And while it was an impatient slumber, one in which their dreams were insatiable with the hunger for power, they were together. United. Waiting for the time when they could rise again and re-write the wrongs of the galaxy as a unit. A whole.

Until Marcus had jolted Khan awake. Where Khan had once been the eagle, he was now the mouse. Marcus was a hammer and Khan and his crew mere glass under the Admiral's weight. Superbeings at the mercy and vulnerability of a mere human. Atrocious.

Marcus was preparing for war with the Klingons. And if Khan had not been so humiliated, he would have been intrigued. Never had he witnessed desire for the taste of blood that rivalled his own superhuman bloodlust. But instead of being intrigued, Khan was fearful for he knew that bloodlust begot savagery. And soon his fears were confirmed. Marcus took Khan's sleeping crew hostage and, to show the superhuman that he was no longer super, killed one of them as they slumbered. Turned Khan's family into seventy-two. Forced the superhuman to build weapons and warships under the threat of another death. Exploited the superhuman's genius. Erased the once-ruler's identity and shamed him with a weak, powerless name: John Harrison.

But Khan was superior. He would always be superior. He was brighter, faster, stronger, and equally manipulative. So he built Marcus' weapons, but he built them with his own purposes in mind. And over the course of a month, he carefully and preciously placed each of his remaining crew members into the souls of his carefully-crafted torpedoes. Until he was discovered. Marcus' words continued to ricochet through Khan's thoughts and whisper in his ears.

"Nice trick with the torpedoes, son. Almost felt bad that I had to destroy them."

Khan could only respond in kind. He bombed Starfleet Section 31 and attacked an official meeting of Starfleet Commanders. The smell of bloodshed propelled his outrage and his savagery.

Then Khan discovered that the torpedoes had not, in fact, been destroyed. Yet his anger could not be abated. He had erased whatever heart he had left in his chest. It was still beating but he had to place his hands on his breast bone and feel the pulsations to even realize it was there. A sword could slice through his skin and the wound would heal in a matter of seconds. But there was no super gene that could successfully heal a betrayed heart.

Khan was now on the very ship that housed his torpedoes, his family - the USS Enterprise.

As a prisoner. Wanted for murder. He was trapped in a chamber made of Vulcan-glass. Practically unbreakable. Not even his superhuman strength could shatter it. He had tried, had ran at it with incredible speed and force - but when his body made impact, it only vibrated gently as if laughing at him. So all that he could do was wait. His hope rested in Carol. If he could win her heart, he could save his crew and gain the ultimate revenge.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as Carol had heard about the advanced photon torpedoes aboard the USS Enterprise, she knew that she had to gain passage. The torpedoes were the sole reason she was now aboard the ship, and the fact that she was a weapons specialist allowed the crew to accept her enormous interest in them. She visited them on a daily basis. They had been built under the orders of her father but he remained silent as to who constructed them and what their capabilities and their purposes encompassed. The Admiral would only say that they were the most advanced torpedoes ever crafted. That statement had drawn Carol to investigate out of a mixture of wonder and worry.

She found that it was refreshing for her to put her studies into work outside of simulations, textbooks, exams, and classes. To be a part of reality. However, she was frustrated at the realization that, even after several days, she was no closer to understanding the secret of the torpedoes - and, hence, the secret intentions of her father.

After spending her afternoons exhausting herself by studying the torpedoes, Carol would tumble into bed at night with a mind that was more often than not a welcome blank sheet devoid of dreams. But when she did dream, the blank sheet would fill with red.

\-------------------------------

Blue eyes hidden behind red-lashes. Begging for help. For mercy. Shoulders heaving. Body shuddering. Tears thundering down pale cheeks. He was drowning in a pool of blood but his hands were clean. The sound of fists against glass. Blood filling the chamber, submerging him, drowning him. He was choking and spluttering and trying to find air. But the hallway was unnervingly empty and silent. Nobody to hear his cries. His screams of agony and protest. "HE KILLED THEM CAROL! HE KILLED MY FAMILY!"

And Carol was sitting bolt upright, covered in cold sweat, sheets in a tangled pile on the floor, hair plastered to her face. Alone in her room. Hands shaking and chest shuddering. It was just a dream.

But if it was just a dream, why were her ears still ringing with agonized, broken-hearted screams?

Carol found herself tip toeing through the ship before she could really comprehend what she was doing and why exactly she was doing it. She hesitated as she approached the glass holding cell but when she noticed that the prisoner was turned towards the wall, she felt a little calmer and a little braver. No tear-stained eyes to haunt her mind. No gut-wrenching cries. But she had to be sure. The image that had come to her in her dream - of his heaving shoulders and broken sobs - had been so vivid. She needed to know he was okay.

She moved forward gingerly and slowly, her feet not making a sound against the hard floor. He was sitting in silence with his back to the glass window. She couldn't see his face and was unsure whether he was awake or asleep. She looked down to his spine and noticed that his breathing was barely audible. She also noticed that his posture was perfect…achingly beautiful. A shaky intake of breath at this realization.

Her eyes moved up to the nape of his neck. His skin was so pale. Almost like expensive porcelain. Except for a small mole on the side of his neck. She could not help but smile at this slight imperfection against the cool white. And at the way his dark hair tumbled down his neck to dip into a sharp V. A perfectly pointed V. Carol bit her lip. Looked down. Felt guilty. She should go. She was awfully tired. But as she turned to leave, there came a voice. Deep and penetrating. She could not tell whether it was the purr of a jaguar or the roar of a lion.

"Did no one ever tell you that it is rude to stare, Dr. Wallace?"

Slowly, the man turned to look at her through the glass. His eyes were bright and fierce. No red around his lashes. Tonight, they simmered blue and grey. Like molten rock waiting to erupt. The deep boiling of extreme pain and unfixable hurt. A melting candle fighting against the weight of flames. Carol moved closer to the man. Closer to the flames. Her hands shook but she could not help her curiosity.

"Mr. Harrison…how do you know my name?" She was surprised by how firm her voice was. In control.

The man's lips flickered into a slight smile. The smile was not genial. It was as if he could see right into and through her soul. It sent shivers down her stomach. "How do you know mine, Carol?" Her name was uttered in a velveteen-laced whisper and Carol's abdominal muscles tightened. For a brief second, she felt a wave of arousal which was quickly washed away by feelings of disgust and self-loathing.

Carol held her hands behind her back, determined to look the blue-eyed man straight in the face and hide her trembling. "You are a wanted man. A murderer. It is quite hard not to know your name."

He smirked then grimaced and Carol noticed his lower lip quiver for a brief second. The words he uttered next were barely audible. He sounded so forlorn. "Well, you see, that is where you are wrong, Dr. Wallace. John Harrison is not really my name."

Carol blinked, unsure how she should respond. For an instant, she worried that the man before her knew her true name. Panic ignited deep in her stomach. What if he revealed her identity to the crew? But why would he? What good would it do him? Carol felt her heartbeat quicken and she tried to breathe deep into her stomach to calm her anxiety. Finally, after what felt like decades, she found her voice. "You still haven't answered my question. How do you know my name?"

The man's sharp eyes moved from the blank wall back to Carol's face. His gaze ate through her soul once again, his face plastered in a slight sneer. "I listen. I have heard you introduce yourself to members of the crew."

Carol gently licked her lips and swallowed, feeling the knot in her stomach subside as she concluded that he did not know her real name. But when she looked up again, her heart stopped. Out of fear, she supposed…or was it for a different reason? The person she knew as John had moved from his sitting position at the back of his chamber and was now pressed against the glass mere feet from her. He watched the way Carol's body tensed under his gaze before he spoke next. "Why are you here?"

She frowned and took a step forward. "Why did you kill innocent people?"

Her voice was sharp, accusing, unforgiving, and she was repulsed and horrified to hear the man before her utter a low-rumbling laugh before asking, "What have you learned about the torpedoes aboard this ship, Dr. Wallace?"

Carol was taken aback. "How did you know - ?"

The man before her looked at her with piercing agitation. His eyes were so blue. Deep orbs of colour. Looking into them was like drowning in the middle of the ocean. Hypnotizing and transforming. Alluring as waves of silk. Carol's trance was broken when the man's voice pierced the air again. "I already told you. I listen. You would do well to do the same." He paced slowly back and forth before her. "I am aware that you have been to visit them every day since boarding this ship. Why?"

Carol was searching the ceiling and the floor, occupying her eyes with anything but the man's face. She focused on his feet before saying, "I will not discuss weaponry with a murderer."

The man stopped pacing and came to rest very close to Carol. She felt goosebumps rise on her neck and the conflicting feelings of allure and sheer terror. The man's lips flickered into a small smile and when he spoke next, his voice was barely audible through the glass. Though Carol told herself that it was time to leave, she found her cheek pressed up against the glass to try to hear his words. The glass separated them by mere inches. "Oh, but you will never come close to understanding the torpedoes without my help, Carol."

His low voice and deep breath covered the glass with a light fog. Carol pressed her forehead deeper into the glass as she whispered, "You know something about them? Tell me."

Carol noticed that they were nose to nose now and she felt something heavy in her heart - something she could not explain…was it fear or desire? - at the idea of his hands breaking through the glass and grabbing her.

Moments passed and an overwhelming silence filled the room. His lips were pressed against hers now. She could feel the glass heating with every breath she took, every word he spoke. "If you really want to understand the torpedoes, Dr. Wallace, I suggest you open one of them." And then he was gone. Sitting. Back facing her. Spine erotically erect.

Carol could smell burning pollen and petals.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Brief mention of self-harm in this chapter.

\---------------------------------

Torpedoes were not Khan's only creation in his time working for Marcus. He had secretly and stealthily crafted a portable transwarp beaming device in the hopes that he would one day be able to use it to take his crew to safety. Though that day had not come to pass, he had still found the portable device to be of use. After his attack on the meeting of Starfleet's Commanders, he had used it to escape to Kronos, home world of the Klingon.

When he arrived on the bleak and abandoned planet, part of him hoped that he would lay down to peacefully die in his grief. He went days without food or water; he refused to sleep; he gave his anger shape by jumping over precipices, scaling cliffs, running through dirt until his lungs felt like they might explode. But it was no use. He had been genetically crafted to not need the basic human necessities of food, water, or rest. He could die, but only under very severe circumstances. He felt mocked by his superiority. Trapped and smothered. He wanted to hurt himself. To numb the inner pain he endured. And he would slice through his skin with sharp rocks, watching the blood leak from within him and spill across his pale skin. The sight of his blood made his breathing relax a little - it was a sign that he was human after all and that perhaps there was an end to his suffering. But in the next breath, his skin would close up and glow pale and healthy once again. Then he was filled with self-loathing. He had failed his family.

Another part of Khan's heart hoped that Marcus would hunt him down in Klingon territory, thereby igniting the war that the Admiral had always wanted. The war that he had forced Khan to help him prepare for. Khan knew the spaceship that Marcus commanded. Khan had designed it. The USS Vengeance. Instilled with incredible technology and galaxy-altering advanced weaponry. A ship whose only desire was war. Khan understood that even with his superpowers, he could not take on such a ship by himself. But while Khan's presence on the abandoned planet could go unseen, a warship like the Vengeance would surely be noticed by the Klingon ships that patrolled the area. And it would be a different story if there were numerous Klingon ships firing at the warship, distracting the Admiral. Then Khan could make his move. Then he could ensure that Marcus truly suffered. But Marcus never came.

Instead, Marcus sent Starfleet's USS Enterprise and her crew into the heart of Klingon territory and ordered them to fire 72 torpedoes to ensure the superhuman's obliteration. For the first time in what felt like far too long, fortune was on Khan's side. The Captain of the Enterprise did not fire the torpedoes, choosing the moral road and giving the superhuman the option of surrendering so that he might have a fair trial back on Earth. And, of course, as soon as Khan had heard mention that the Enterprise contained 72 torpedoes, he knew that his crew was alive. Feeling something akin to hope ignite in his heart (if only faintly), he surrendered to gain access aboard the ship. To be near his crew. And the Captain of the ship was principled enough - stupid enough - to reveal to Marcus that the superhuman had been taken aboard rather than killed. It was too perfect.

Khan knew that Marcus would be furious, shaking, and murderous at the news. The one who had rebelled was alive. And the Starfleet crew who had been told to destroy him had not followed orders. _Nobody_ disobeyed Alexander Marcus. The Admiral would ensure that the crew of the Enterprise suffered for their moral values – he would hunt down the unsuspecting ship and unleash his anger. It would not be against the Klingon but, regardless, Marcus would finally have a war. A civil war against his own people. His Starfleet. How savage. And when Marcus started this war, Khan would turn to Carol for help. Khan practically purred with anticipation.

Yet, a small knot of doubt began to grow in the pit of Khan's stomach. As days passed aboard the Enterprise, he found himself imagining the various ways he would avenge his crew. The vision of Marcus' body, lifeless and covered in blood, showered Khan with an eerie sense of peace - until he saw shiny golden hair falling over the corpse, blood and tears tinting the luscious locks a sickly maroon. The image was so fresh, so vivid, Khan could practically smell the salty tears and decaying blood. He had to reach out and grab at the golden hair to ensure that it was not real. But as he reached out, the image dissolved into dust and Khan's trembling fingers curled around air.


	6. Chapter 6

Carol was eighteen. Standing in the shower, head against the tile wall. She was watching the water droplets dance and twirl along the glass shower door before escaping down the drain. She wished that she could run away with the water droplets. The water was soothing against her face, camouflaging her tears.

She had been accepted into a prestigious academy in California to study weaponry. On full scholarship. Had called her father to tell him the news, though she no longer knew why. At first, she told herself it was to win his approval. But perhaps it was to fill him with fear, to show him she was a force to be reckoned with. That no matter how much he had insulted her through the years, had tried to crush her self-confidence, she was succeeding. She was a fighter.

But when she told him, he had laughed. Scoffed. A debilitating chuckle. "You think you have a chance? You will fail. This isn't high school anymore, kiddo. Weaponry is an area that only the strong-minded can delve into. You are weak, just like your mother. I hear her in your voice, in every word you say. You aren't my daughter. I don't even know you."

As she replayed the conversation in her mind, Carol's stomach lurched and her knees gave in underneath her. She was falling, falling, wet hair plastered against her mouth and nose so she couldn't breathe. But as her head was about to hit the floor of the shower, strong hands caught her and held her up. Calmly wiped the hair out of her face. And when she had the strength to look up, she was twenty-nine years old and staring into ice blue eyes. A sharp intake of breath and a slight flush of the cheeks as she realized how incredibly naked she was. And far more developed than her eighteen year old self. A slow release of breath and muscles as she noticed that the man before her was absolutely and delightfully naked too. Then her hands were on his chest. He was so slender. So fragile and delicate underneath her fingers. And yet so powerful. The hands that were now resting on her neck could crush her in a matter of seconds. She could feel the strength brewing behind his fingertips. The intermingling of vulnerability and power. There was a tingling in-between Carol's legs, a wetness there that shower water could not create or undo. She had to have him. She was so hungry. And then she was frantically tracing the contours of his chest muscles. His skin so pale. So wet. The hair on his head falling into his eyes and so wet too. Such dark hair. A mysterious wilderness that she would gladly become lost in. She was standing on her tiptoes now, fingers searching the forests of his hair, brushing it from his eyes. And him letting her explore. Silently watching her, lips turned up ever so slightly.

She closed her eyes and let out a moan of pleasure, "Oh John," before she remembered that that was not his name. And when she looked at him again, his eyes were simmering red and wrathful. Then, his hand was wrapped around her wrist and he was guiding her down his chest, down his navel. She looked into the flames of his eyes, searching for an answer. His stare was unwavering, challenging her. Daring her to explore below the waist. Threatening. Her heart sped up and a burning sensation ignited in the back of her throat. She felt nauseous, dizzy. She wanted to scream out in fear. Horror. She was terrified. She kept her eyes focused on his chest, his face. She would not - could not - look down. She knew that if she saw his manhood in-between his legs, she would be undone. She simply could not be undone in front of him. Could not be that vulnerable. Not with those eyes on her. Cold and calculating and endearing and so intimidating. If she melted in front of him, he would surely hurt her.

But then the sides of his eyes creased and the passionate flames transformed into gentle ripples of soft blue. He was smiling. And Carol was a fool. He could never hurt her. His face was filled with such love for her. He was her protector. Her saviour. Oh, he was so beautiful. She buried her face into the crevices of his chest but suddenly cried in horror. His chest was on fire. The air filled with the horrifying scent of burning flesh. She pulled back, desperately splashing water on her cheek as her skin smoked, sizzled, and began to melt and trickle down the drain. And as she looked at him, her protector, his entire body ignited in flames and a timer illuminated on his chest. He was a torpedo and he was about to explode. A volcano coming undone. But Carol was melting, melting down the drain and there was nothing she could do but watch him shatter into a million pieces of glass.

She shot up in bed, nausea controlling her entire body, her shoulders straining as she dry heaved. 11:09 P.M. She had only been asleep for an hour. It was merely three hours ago that she had opened one of the torpedoes. The discovery she made had mentally and physically drained her, and she had hoped to let go of the questions racing through her mind until she was more refreshed. Until she could think clearly…or at least clearer. But here she was, sick at the memory of opening the torpedo. Or was her body rejecting her dream and the wet pool that had formed in her underwear as a result? She cursed under her breath and climbed out of bed.

Five minutes later, she had brushed her teeth, changed her undergarments, pulled on a robe, and was travelling down the hallway towards the ship's prisoner. Breath hissing, blood racing, she slammed against the glass of his chamber. Her voice came out sharp and vicious. Lightning crashing into and through metal. Steadfast and bold.

"You are going to tell me who the fuck you are and why there are bodies in those bloody torpedoes."


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as she spoke, his eyes were on her. It was as if she and he were the only things to exist in the entire universe and suddenly she felt so very, very small. Strangely light. He stood tall and proud, his hands resting in fists of agitation at his sides. He was a sight both magnificent and horrifying. Majestic and lethal. Carol felt herself drowning in these thoughts until finally she could hear the man's voice coming to her from a great distance, thick and creamy, and she forced herself to resurface.

"My name is Khan and the people in the torpedoes are my family. I put them there."

At these words, Carol's thoughts turned to anger. She wanted to ignite this man named Khan, to torch him in flames and watch him burn the way she had watched her garden burn so many years ago. Her voice was seeped with hatred as she said, "You are even more despicable than I could ever imagine. Not only do you ruthlessly kill strangers, but you are willing to condemn your entire family to a brutally painful death by explosion?"

Khan shut his eyes and bowed his head as a series of emotions spread across his face: sadness, guilt, anger, grief, loneliness, hope, despair. When he looked up again, his face was blotched red and his eyes were filled with tears. He grumbled, a sickeningly low and untamed noise that came from the depths of his stomach, and his voice cracked as he cried out with tones of agony, "No, no, NO! I was trying to save them."

And then words were spilling from his mouth and Carol found her anger turning to horror turning to sadness. She sat on the ground, looking up at the slender yet powerfully built man pacing back and forth in front of her, listening carefully to his words. Words about how he was once a ruler. How he was not just any man, but one who was genetically modified to be superior. How he and his crew had been slumbering. How Admiral Marcus had woken Khan from his sleep. How Marcus was preparing for war and had killed one of Khan's crew to manipulate the superhuman into building weapons and warships. How Khan had crafted the 72 torpedoes and had placed his remaining crew in them, desperately hoping to take them to safety, but then was discovered. How Marcus led Khan to believe that the torpedoes had been destroyed. How in response Khan attacked Starfleet before fleeing to Kronos. How he had learned soon after that his crew was unharmed and aboard the Enterprise. How he was here now to be near them and, ultimately, to save them.

Then there was an incredible, uncomfortable, unbearable silence.

Carol felt like her very soul had been rung dry and it took her a long time before she had the strength to speak. "You still killed innocent people. Why? Why would you…?"

Khan's eyes glowed and his voice came out powerful, harsh, and wicked. "Because I was angry. Because I was inconsolable. Because I needed revenge. Starfleet had to hurt…to suffer…to bleed. Marcus needed to pay." His entire body was trembling, his teeth bared, his dark hair flung into disarray around his face. Part of Carol was filled with fear and desired nothing more than to run far away, but the other side of her nature told her to stay.

He was a murderer. He had killed innocent people. His acts of anger were more horrible and vile than words could ever express. And he could be tricking her. Manipulating her to win her pity. He could be a complete liar. The man who had raised her for the first ten years of her life could not possibly do all those horrible things. Alexander Marcus was hurtful - he had been very hurt himself - but he was not so cruel, insensitive, or rageful as to do the actions that Khan accused him of. Images were running at marathon speed through Carol's mind. Of birthday parties, bedtime stories, Christmas carols, nuzzles, her father smiling. Then images of fists against her face, bruises on her scalp, insults that sunk into her bones, blood rushing down her skin, burning pollen and petals. She tried to stand up so she could escape, hurry back to her warm bed, away from the lights and the noise and her father and the beautifully, sickeningly, viciously broken man before her. She needed to think, to breathe, and she felt her throat constricting as little black dots began to tease her vision. But then his voice rang sharp and bitter through the silence - and laced in his words Carol thought she could sense a tinge of regret and self-contempt.

"I am a villain."

And when he turned to her and she saw the fresh tears spilling from his shattered blue eyes and his shoulders heaving up and down as he quietly sobbed, she felt her heart splinter in two. As if her father was yet again personally attacking her. The man in the glass cell was so battered, so beaten and pitiful and powerfully pathetic. He was her. She could see herself in him. A ten year old girl setting the garden on fire. Watching the flowers explode in flames. The smell of pollen and petals. Watching the man who had denied being her father douse the fire, at the same time extinguishing her passion.

She took a deep breath and then she said the words that would seal her fate.

"Yes. But you are also a victim. Please Khan. Let me help you save your family."

His blue eyes glistened as a small smile spread across his lips.

"Why? Why should you help me, Dr. Wallace?"

"Because I am a victim too," she said in a whisper, her gaze falling to the ground. Then she locked her eyes onto his deep blue ones again. "Come here."

Khan's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity but he obeyed, walking slowly over to the glass of his chamber and carefully finding his way to the floor beside Carol. She gazed at him for a long time, taking in every inch of his body, from the top of his head to his porcelain neck down his long limbs to the tips of his feet. He watched her in silence as she pressed her forehead against the glass and gestured for him to do the same. Then, she gently and carefully raised a hand and began to stroke at his hair, a timid smile on her face. His breath caught in his throat and the warmth that filled him senseless made him believe that the glass had suddenly vanished and her fingers really were enwrapped in his hair. He relaxed against the glass and watched her fingers, feeling more at peace than he had felt in far too long. His gaze moved to her eyes, so sad and lonely.

"How have you been hurt?" he asked in a tone that greatly differed from his usually powerful, tremulous voice.

Carol's smile was small and incredibly forlorn. "I have also lost family."

She leaned forward until her nose was pressed against the glass. Khan could feel her warm breath radiate through it and soon his nose was pressed against it too, his innards wrenching with loneliness, desire, and lust. And suddenly, delightfully, Carol's lips were crashing against his as their breath tangoed, covering the glass with heat and steam and passion. He moaned in frustration at the barrier that separated them. He could practically taste her - roses and smoke. And then, she was gone in a wind of blushes and smiles.


	8. Chapter 8

Khan was happy. Genuinely happy. He could not remember the last time he had felt this way. He was winning the game. Carol would be his. _His_. She wanted to help him...desired him...longed to kiss him. His body throbbed at the thought. Oh, it was perfect. He was brilliant! He had been careful, had said just enough to garner empathy from her but not enough to scare her away. He had revealed the hero within him (the man who loved his family above all else) and had suppressed the devil in his soul (the man who wanted to rip every inch of skin off of Marcus' body).

But no, winning the game was not the only reason why he was happy. He was also happy because of the warm, heavy lump that had risen in his pants. Oh, he was positively swelling. He had to touch himself. The room was silent and empty. It was the dead of night and very unlikely that anyone would pass by. Hungrily, he unzipped his tight black pants and pulled them down along with his dark silk underwear, freeing his manhood from its suffocating bondage. With a sigh of relief, he wrapped his right hand around his erection. Then he closed his eyes, filling his mind with the image of golden-haired Carol. Her lips against the glass, so soft yet so intense. He began to pump forcefully, purposefully, and it did not take long for him to gasp in pleasure, back arched and head thrown back, as he spilled out into his hand. He jolted and shook and a hum of satisfaction rumbled in the back of his throat. When the exhilarating sensation was over, however, he felt slightly embarrassed at his sexual hunger as he realized he had nowhere to clean himself. Since he did not need food or drink, he received no meals or water; thus, he had no need for a bathroom and, as a result, the small bathroom at the back of his cell was locked off. Cursing under his breath, he lifted his black sweater and wiped his hand across his bare chest before ensuring his clothes were once again flawlessly in place against his slenderly powerful form.

Yet even as his manhood softened, his happiness intensified. There was something else there, a pleasant bubbly feeling in his stomach, and he chuckled to himself when he realized that he had grown fond of Carol. He was attracted to her beyond the sexual and physical. He was not sure how to feel about this realization, whether he should scoff at his vulnerability or rejoice over the fact that he was still capable of loving someone. His thoughts were disturbed, however, by a catastrophic bang. The ship hurdled out of control and Khan was thrown onto his back, his head hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Colorful circles dotted his vision for a second, but he quickly recovered to the sound of an alarm filling the air along with panicked voices, hurried and confused footsteps, and smoke. The lights above him shuddered and the room was drowned in darkness.

Then, in the chaos and noise, there was Carol. Hurrying towards Khan's chamber, nightgown billowing.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Carol's breathing was heavy.

"We've been attacked," Khan replied coolly as he picked himself up off the floor.

Carol's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and shock.

"We both know who it is. Think, Carol. I should have been destroyed on Kronos along with my crew," Khan continued, his expression one of utter calm.

Carol's breath seemed to catch in her throat as she was filled with realization. "Admiral Marcus."

The ship shuddered more violently. Khan was once again knocked onto his back as Carol tumbled onto her side, nightgown revealing a precariously exorbitant amount of leg. Her cheeks flushed brilliantly when she noticed Khan staring, and she quickly covered herself. The room continued to fill with smoke, shrouding every nook and cranny in sickening shadows. Soon the only thing that Khan could see through the dark was Carol. Her eyes were locked on his. She coughed uncontrollably as the smoke enveloped her.

"Carol. You must let me out."

There was a look of hesitancy on her face. "No. No, I can't do that, Khan. I want to help you...I _will_ help you...but I can't do that. You're still a killer. There must be another way."

The ship shook brutally again, and an audible explosion could be heard in the distance followed by a tremendous groan of machinery and metal.

Khan's voice became more urgent. "Marcus will destroy the torpedoes."

Carol's face flushed with panic. "I will make sure the torpedoes are safe. I promise."

Khan's voice strained with exasperation. "They are my family. Please. I need to be with them."

Carol bit her lip and as she watched more smoke spill into the room, she found herself asking, "What must I do?"

Khan's voice was quick and commanding. "There is a button that opens this chamber. A blue button. On the control panel in the bridge. Press it and meet me back here. I will wait for you."

Carol swallowed hard, eyes swarming with emotions. Sadness laced with panic, fear, desire, and terror. She was fighting an inner battle, her darker nature against her gentler nature. Finally, her eyes hardened. She nodded that she understood and turned to do as he said.

"Carol," Khan spoke, voice ringing sharply through the darkness. "Thank you." He pressed a kiss against the glass and Carol felt a faint smile brush her lips. But there was rustling through the smoke and, as Carol turned to look, there was a swift movement behind her. She heard Khan cry out before she felt something heavy against her head. Then, she fell into darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

Out of the smoke emerged a tall, husky figure wielding a large and incredibly intimidating gun. Khan noted that it was a weapon he had designed and he could feel his blood begin to bubble. As the figure drew closer, Khan's blood was boiling at a fever pitch. He was sure he would explode from the inside out and his fists crashed against the glass as he bellowed in utter pain and rage.

"Well, well, son, so we meet again," Admiral Marcus said in a smug voice, a disturbingly calm smile on his face as he walked up to Khan's chamber.

There were so many words Khan wanted to say in that moment, so many actions he wished he could take. He longed to lay his hands on the man, tear skin into shreds, gouge out eyes, pull teeth, rip hair, snap bones - but instead he was trapped like a fly in a jar. It was not supposed to turn out this way. This was not how he had envisioned his reunion with Marcus. Trapped with his source of help unconscious on the floor. It was so pathetic, so incredibly humiliating, that no words came to him. Just screams. Gut-wrenching, heart-aching screams. His entire body was in tremors.

"Not so super now, are you?" Marcus asked, tone mocking pity. He tapped on the glass gently and laughed when Khan's powerful kick left the chamber undamaged.

"Thanks for your help, son. My ship is beautiful. Couldn't think of a better designer. She really is flawless. I'm sorry for firing on all of you but I couldn't help but show her off a little. What do you think of your work?" And the Admiral stretched his arms out, pointing to the smoke filling the room and the bits and pieces of metal lying around in disarray. "This is her when she yawns. I've yet to see her when she roars, but I gotta admit that I am impressed. Can't blame you for being a cocky little bastard. You are smart. But you aren't smart enough. You thought you could fuck with me, huh? First with the torpedoes trick, then with your petty little temper tantrum over at Section 31 and again at our official meeting? Well, I've got news for you. Nobody fucks with me and gets away with it! My ship could destroy the Enterprise and everyone on board in a matter of seconds, you know that. But that would have been all too easy. This way…this way's more fun. You know what I'm going to do now, son? I'm going to enlist some of the crew onboard this pussy of a ship. I'm going to threaten them on pain of death to help me. With their help, I am going to go to the torpedoes and I am going to bring all 72 of them here. And then I am going to destroy each and every torpedo while you sit there watching, trapped and helpless. And finally, just to make it clear that it was a mistake not to blow you up on Kronos like I instructed, I am going to go back to my ship so I can destroy the Enterprise…I'm going to suck the life out of her section by section…slowly and painfully."

Just as Marcus was about to turn, his eyes fell on the heap of golden hair and nightgown on the floor. Marcus' face filled with a sad horror and he threw aside the weapon in his hand as if it were suddenly smouldering hot. "Carol," his words came out in a choked whisper. "What in God's name?" Then he was kneeling over her, pulling at her golden hair to find the bump on her head where weapon had met scalp. She wasn't supposed to be here. How had she gotten on board? He had told her to stay away from Starfleet…to stay out of his life and his affairs. Marcus' breathing was laboured against the smoke and his emotions. He coughed heavily.

Khan saw the hurt on Marcus' face. The Admiral obviously cared about Carol in some twisted way and, though Khan did not understand why, he wanted to take advantage of it. Despite the fact that he was still trembling uncontrollably, he finally found the inner strength to form words. "Carol is helping me. She knows what you have done." He let his words fall heavy and thick.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the call of the ship's alarm which continued to echo helplessly through the hallway. In the next second, Marcus' laughter filled the empty spaces with a hollow sound, one that teetered on the edges of hurt and disgust.

As the Admiral was moving to stand, his eyes fell on the woman's name tag: CAROL WALLACE. His entire body tensed up and he quickly tore the name tag from her nightgown, throwing it across the room into the smoke. For a second, he looked like he may strike the unconscious girl a second blow but, instead, he stood on shaky feet and muttered towards her unconscious form, "To hell with you and your mother."

Khan was initially pleased with the raw hurt that Carol's presence and his words seemed to cause Marcus. But at Marcus' latest utterance, Khan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. To hell with you and your mother? The superhuman's eyes fleeted over the Admiral's face, from his sharp features to his icy eyes - eyes that reminded the superhuman of Carol's. And then a wave of vertigo washed over Khan as he came to a sickening realization. A memory hurtled into his mind, clear and vivid and horrifying. Pictures that he had seen once, when he was building weapons for the Admiral. The first, a photo of a very young Marcus hand in hand with a beautiful lady. Underneath the picture, words were scrawled in cursive: _Alex Marcus and fiancé Teresa Wallace._ The second, a photo of a young Marcus holding a golden-haired toddler in his arms. Underneath this picture, too, were words scrawled in cursive: _Daddy and Daughter Carol on Father's Day, 1986._

The woman who now lay unconscious at his feet - the woman who he had allowed himself to grow fond of - was the daughter of Admiral Marcus.

An excruciating pain ripped through Khan and he keeled over, feeling violently nauseous. With a sweaty palm, he clutched at his heart. It thumped madly against his chest and he swore that it was breaking in utter outrage. But through the blinding pain, he saw Marcus retreat back into the smoke and his emotions shifted. Marcus was going to destroy the torpedoes. He had to do something. He was desperate, frantic, in sheer panic. So he did the only thing he could do. He backed up to the farthest corner of the wall and he ran.

He ran hard, harder than he ever had before, so that his skin ached, his hair pulled at his temple, and there was a deafening noise in his ears as the wind rushed past him. The glass was coming ever closer. He took a deep breath. He was going to break through. He had to. There was the power of a hundred well-built men in his run. He let out a Herculean bellow and he was soaring, soaring until…his face hit the glass, lips splitting open and sending blood shooting in every direction. His world went black for a moment as he fell to the floor. But he could not give up. He jumped back onto his feet and punched and punched and punched and punched the glass, pouring every ounce of anger into his fists, not stopping for a breath even when his vision blurred from exhaustion. He called for help, his screams so powerful that the walls around him shook and his lungs felt they would tear in two. But his efforts were futile. He could no longer hear frantic activity and he realized that, in the aftermath of the attack, everyone had congregated in three rooms aboard the ship: the bridge, the operating room, and the engine room. No one would hear his cries. With a final punch of defeat, he crumbled to the floor in a heap, shamelessly sobbing, his throat turning dry and sore.

But then there was a noise next to him and he sat bolt upright to find Carol looking at him wearily, fingers pressed against her temple.


	10. Chapter 10

The first moment that Khan stared into Carol's weary eyes, he felt nothing but absolute, utter, and complete hatred. If only looks could kill, she would be dying right there and then…violently and ruthlessly. She was a Marcus…the Admiral's blood ran through her veins…that made her Khan's enemy. He despised her, every inch of her, the sight of her beautiful golden hair and soft lips suddenly poison that sent the superhuman into shivers.

The next moment, he felt dirty, filthy, and tarnished. He had allowed himself to fall for this creature…this _Marcus_. He became uncomfortably aware of the cum that was spread across his chest. The humiliation of having allowed a _Marcus_ to send him into orgasms and fluttering desires made his cheeks flush a deep maroon.

Yet the next moment, his wrath transformed into desperation, a roller coaster ride of hope and need. He could not forget that Carol wanted to help him and there were likely only minutes left before the Admiral would reach the torpedoes. Khan hated having to rely on others but he could not deny that, in this moment, he needed her. Desperately. He took a deep breath to stabilize himself before he spoke.

"There is no time to waste. You must let me out of here _now._ " His voice was curt and hard, an angry undertone burning his words, leaving no room for argument.

But Carol was still blinking in a very dazed way. "Wha…what happened?"

Khan made a noise somewhere between a groan and a roar before spitting out in an exasperated hurry, "Let's play this out logically then, shall we? Admiral Marcus has boarded the Enterprise." Khan's eyes glinted when he saw Carol's face blanch at his words. "He knocked you unconscious in order to have an undisturbed conversation with me in which he informed me that he will enlist two or three crew members under threat to help him carry all 72 torpedoes here where he will destroy them one by one in front of me and, when he is done with that, he will obliterate the Enterprise and everyone on it. He is currently in the process of fulfilling these plans. Now perhaps you will understand the severity of the situation and let me out without further question."

Carol stood up and, though she thought she would be shaky, she found her legs strong and supportive underneath her. But as she moved towards the corridor, one of her slippers crunched on something hard and sharp, and with a cry of pain she bent down to see what it was. She gave a gasp of fright and stumbled backwards when she was greeted by her name tag. Her hand reached up to her breast bone and she felt the damaged fabric where the tag had been forced off. And then she became acutely aware of the blue eyes boring into the back of her head.

She turned and looked at Khan and, for a second, she felt so small and ugly and sick that it seemed as if her entire being was dissipating, becoming one with the smoke filling the air. Khan's eyes were fierce, ferocious, other-wordly, seeped in anger and hurt and wrath and sadness and so, so much unbridled outrage. And that look was all Carol needed to understand: Khan had finally learned her true identity. But he remained silent and still and, when he opened his mouth, his voice was controlled. "Let me out _now._ "

Carol moved towards Khan, reaching her hand out to gently touch the glass. Her knees quivered but she did not falter when Khan turned his vulture-like eyes on her hand and examined each of her fingers as if deciphering the best way to rip bone apart. She held her ground and moved her fingers in soothing motions, gentle and loving, before saying in an unwavering voice, "I am _not_ my father. Believe me when I say that I care about you."

And then she was sprinting through the smoke-filled darkness towards the bridge.

Thoughts were racing through her mind at lightning speed. Khan knew she was a Marcus. Not a Marcus in spirit - _never_ in spirit - but she could not cleanse her DNA. She was the daughter of the man who had ruined Khan's life. She knew that she should be terrified. What would Khan do to her now? Was he talking to her still because she was his only source of hope, the only way to get to his crew? What would happen when she had served her purpose? Would he ignore her? Hurt her? Would he still desire her? He _had_ wanted her, she knew that, she could feel it in the way his lips had ravished the glass when they had kissed. But would he still want her now? Goosebumps formed on Carol's arms as she thought of the superhuman's murderous streak, of the lives (the _innocent_ lives) that he had ended in his hurt and his rage. Perhaps he would kill Carol too? But why? To make her father suffer? To make _her_ suffer for her father's sins? Or simply because she was a Marcus and that name was a parasite to everything the superhuman held dear? Yet, as these thoughts coursed through Carol's mind, she found that she was not scared. No, anything but scared…she was exhilarated. The goosebumps had not sprung from fear but rather from anticipation. And with this realization, she laughed. A full-hearted, bubbly, crazed laugh. Running through the smoke, inhaling the burning substance, feeling fire ignite her throat and trail downwards into her stomach.

Then she was approaching the bridge and she was so close to her goal. She could sense that the atmosphere in the room was tense as she arrived. The entire bridge, much like the rest of the ship, was immersed in darkness…save for a faint blinking of colour. Five crew members were gathered around a dim digital diagram of the Enterprise, staring at the area of the ship which had received massive damage during the attack. The digital diagram flickered on and off, the signal weak, but Carol could still make it out. A gaping hole had been blown into the side of the hull and, when Carol squinted at the diagram, she could see that a small escape pod had entered the ship through the hole. So that was how Marcus had boarded. Another five crew members were deep in conversation, trying to figure out who had boarded and where in the ship they were now. Voices filled with static often penetrated the conversation, indicating that the bridge was in contact with other areas of the ship where people were likely searching for the intruder.

When Carol looked through the panoramic window of the bridge, her eyes widened. The Enterprise was a large ship, but the Vengeance towered over her like she was nothing more than a pebble next to a mountain. Two crew members were furiously tapping buttons and levers. There were frantic voices and Carol could hear bits and pieces of conversation among the disarray. "We only have enough power for life support systems and basic operations." "We've been attacked by one of our own ships. Repeat, we have been attacked by a member of our own fleet, the USS Vengeance." "There is an intruder on board, location unknown." "The commander of the Vengeance is Admiral Alexander Marcus." "The ship must have been commandeered. Marcus would not attack us, surely."

"Permission to come on the bridge," Carol uttered between jagged breaths, still recovering from her mad run.

When permission was granted, all ten crew members paused what they were doing to look at Carol. Her throat went dry. She hadn't even considered how she would release a mass murderer from holding without protest from the other members of the ship. She knew that talking to them was not an option. She wanted to tell them that the intruder was indeed Admiral Marcus and that he planned on destroying the ship. She wanted to admit that she was a Marcus, _not_ a Wallace, and that she had changed her identity because her father was a monster to be feared. She wanted to say that the 72 torpedoes onboard contained living, breathing people in them, that Marcus planned to murder them, and that he must be stopped. She wanted to yell that the people in the torpedoes were Khan's crew and that Khan had been a victim, a puppet who Admiral Marcus had cruelly and selfishly played. She wanted to say all of this, but she kept the words inside her chest because she realized that there were not many people who would empathize with Khan's plight the way she did; and, therefore, Khan would need privacy to save his crew. He wouldn't want an angry mass of people getting in the way. No, she would have to be discreet.

Her eyes raced over the control panel until she spotted the blue button that Khan had directed her to press. It was right in the middle of the control panel, where everyone would be able to clearly and easily see what she was doing. The ten faces were still turned to her, waiting to see why she had come to the bridge in such a frantic state.

She opened her mouth to speak, unsure of what would come out. "Um…I have made a very important discovery. Um…yes, it's very important and so I need to tell you…it's about weapons, naturally…I'm here because I'm a weapons specialist after all…haha…uh," and as she uttered these words, she moved closer to the control panel, trying to hide her discomfort and build everyone's trust by making steady eye contact with each of them. But she found herself at a loss for words and as the ten faces watched her expectantly, her cheeks flushed.

She was relieved when frantic footsteps approached the bridge and the ten faces that had been turned to her now turned to the new presence. Carol moved slowly ever-closer to the control panel. The new presence was a young crew member, face taut in shock and terror. After taking a few shallow breaths, he cried out in a voice filled with horror, "Admiral Marcus is the intruder…he...he is the one who attacked us and…he came into the engine room and…and…he was yelling about the torpedoes and then…and then…he started shooting…oh God…he's killed two of our crew members," and the poor young man was in tears. Carol's heart ached violently at his words. Then there was cacophony on the bridge, voices yelling, bodies moving, arms flailing, buttons being pressed and commands being sent throughout the ship: "Admiral Marcus is our intruder. He is in the engine room and he is armed. Capture him. The holding cell is currently occupied by John Harrison so when you catch Marcus, cuff him and bring him to the bridge."

In the confusion of bodies and voices, Carol pushed aside her grief and made her move. Her hand was hard on the blue button before anyone could see what she was doing. Then she was hurrying back down the smoke-filled corridor. Running fast. She had never been so exhausted, had never physically pushed herself beyond the point of breaking until this moment. Her lungs were burning, her vision was fading, her muscles were screaming in agony, but she had never felt so alive. She urged herself to run harder, until the images rushing past her were nothing more than blurred lines and the colours blue and red. Blue eyes and red fire. She ran on.

When she reached Khan's chamber, the glass was open and he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Khan ran like a cheetah after its prey, long limber legs taking giant strides, nostrils flaring, blue eyes glowing. Hungry for the taste of deep red blood. The air in the holding cell had been heavy and stale and, as he ran, he found himself stretching his arms above his head and breathing deep into his lungs despite the smoke filling the air. His eyes darted to all the endless spaces, the dark nooks and crannies and twists of the ship that he could explore if he so desired. The possibilities seemed endless, the ship infinite in size after being trapped in the glass chamber for days on end. But now was not the time to let his mind wander. Now he was on the hunt to bring down the gazelle. To save his crew. So after allowing himself a small smile in appreciation for his reclaimed freedom, his mouth went tight and his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on the task at hand.

He turned a sharp corner and tumbled into the engine room, but halted when he witnessed the scene in front of him. The room was deserted save for two lifeless men. Their bodies lay in a pool of blood on the floor, eyes glazed, mouths peaceful. They had both been shot numerous times through the heart, ruthlessly and unnecessarily. Their arms were wrapped tightly around one another, their faces cheek to cheek. And though Khan was hungry for bloodshed, though he felt ruthless and rageful and cold, the image before him left him haunted and perturbed. He noted the dark brunette shade of hair the two victims shared, the dull green eyes that looked like carbon copies, the intimate touching, the way they seemed to have gathered comfort from each other in their final moments. They were identical twins…brothers… _family_. And in this scene of death…of misery…of love and peace…here Khan found himself bending down in front of the twins and softly laying his hands on each of them, taking a moment of silence to honour them. An empty pit formed in his stomach as he realized how alone he felt. Alone in his anger. Misunderstood and alienated.

Khan was so deep in reverie that he did not hear the footsteps behind him, but he was pulled out of his trance when caring arms wrapped around his shoulders and soft lips kissed his neck. He turned to see Carol looking at the slain twins with sad eyes and a stiff jaw. And while Khan wanted to feel outrage at the sight of her and at her act of affection, he found himself crumbling into her warmth instead. She was the only person who had reached out to him in so long. And even if she did not fully understand or accept his wrath, she was a constant presence. Dependable and loyal. His face fell on her shoulder and his arms wrapped around her slender waist as he succumbed to the calming way her fingers stroked his back. Then she was pulling him onto his feet and he was running with her cradled in his arms. On the hunt again.

\--------------------------

"Get to work! We don't have all day! I need every single torpedo to be laid out in front of the holding room within the hour, is that clear?"

Alexander Marcus' voice bellowed through the room, his eyes darting from corner to corner like a hawk's, slight grin on his face as he took in the 72 massive torpedoes in front of him. He lifted his gun to the ceiling and gave two warning shots.

A young male and female dressed in identical red Starfleet uniforms were trembling in the corner of the room but jumped into action as the gun fired. "Yes…yes Admiral…perfectly clear," they stammered as they hurried towards one of the oversized torpedoes. They bent down to gingerly lift it, struggling to support its weight, sweat beading on their foreheads and backs aching miserably. Marcus crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, an eyebrow arched.

Then there was a flurry of footsteps from the hallway. Two figures hurried into the room and, as Marcus turned, he was greeted by the beautiful golden hair of Carol and the stern blue eyes of Khan. While Carol looked determined but nervous, Khan was simply radiating with eagerness. There was a tortured glint in the superhuman's blue eyes and Marcus felt his stomach twist with panic. As Khan descended like a vulture on a carcass, Alexander lifted his gun and fired. A large bullet hit Khan in the shoulder. Khan stumbled, glancing at the blood that started leaking from his shoulder, but he continued his descent on Marcus, an intrigued smirk on his lips. Marcus fired again, hands beginning to tremble from stress. This bullet landed in Khan's ankle and, though the superhuman coughed in pain, his footsteps did not falter. Soon the two bullet wounds disappeared, replaced once more with healthy skin.

"Are you going to shoot me again and again, Admiral? You and I both know that your arm will tire before you can kill me." Khan's voice was low and boiling.

Marcus' eyes twitched in dread before his gaze fell on the torpedoes. Then, a wicked smile spread across the Admiral's face. "You may be strong, but the rest of your crew is not. Keep moving forward, son, and I will kill your precious cargo," and the gun was then turned towards the torpedoes.

Khan roared in fury and was on the Admiral in a matter of milliseconds. The superhuman's long hands found their way around the Admiral's skull and began to apply pressure. Though Marcus could not regain a steady grip on his gun, he was still able to bring it down on Khan's temple. The superhuman's grasp faltered for a second. The weapon came down on Khan's head a second time and the superhuman's vision blurred for a quick instant.

Khan heard Carol suck in her breath behind him. He assumed that Carol was horrified, that she would plead with him not to murder her father, that she would try to convince the superhuman to find another way to avenge his crew. But as Khan watched her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pull something shiny and hard out of her robe and aim it at the Admiral.

Then there was a sharp crack and Marcus was tumbling onto the floor, crying out in shock and pain, clutching his now bloody chest with one hand. His weapon tumbled to the floor and skidded out of site.

Carol was standing rigid and furious, a small but powerful gun lifted in an unwavering hand. Her eyes flickered towards the two young people in red uniform. They were huddled behind one of the torpedoes, eyes wide. "Go," she said to them, and they were quick to obey, dashing out of the room without a second glance.

As Marcus' eyes fell on his daughter, he let out a laugh laced with agony and disbelief. "What kind of daughter would kill her own father."

Carol's eyes were hard, her voice harder still. "I lost my father when I was ten years old."

Marcus' laugh deepened and he gave her a look that was eerily akin to pride. "Maybe I was wrong about you, Carol. Maybe you were smart to go into weaponry. You have more guts than I have given you credit for."

Carol's eyes were still cold on the surface but there was a deep sadness that rumbled within their depths. "You don't know me." She swallowed hard in her throat.

Marcus watched the golden-haired woman carefully, eyes moving up and down her body, before saying, "I see myself in you."

Carol's arm dropped slightly at these words but she kept the grasp on her weapon strong. "I am not a manipulator nor am I a ruthless murderer."

The Admiral smiled before he said in a smug tone, "But you are helping a manipulator and ruthless murderer. Is that any better, Carol?"

Carol glanced up at Khan weakly, feeling her cheeks flush and her chin drop.

Marcus' smile spread. "See? You and I are not so different."

Khan watched the blood leaking out of the Admiral's chest and, though he was drowning in the euphoric realization that Carol had created this wound, the bullet hole was not enough. It would eventually kill the Admiral - blood loss - but this was not proper revenge. Marcus had to suffer the most excruciating, severe, agonizing pain possible. And it needed to be by Khan's hands.

Khan's powerful figure loomed over the Admiral's, sizing up his prey, blue eyes unblinking, unwavering, and so, so hungry. Then he pounced with a snarl. His hands were around the Admiral's head and he was squeezing, squeezing, pulling at Marcus' skull until his superhuman abdominals hurt and the seams of his shirt were coming apart. He was pushing so hard against Marcus' skull that the Admiral could not even scream, could only look at the superhuman with terrified, childlike eyes. Khan felt the bones in Marcus' head begin to disintegrate. Then the superhuman leaned forward, eyes electric, face deranged, teeth gnashing before he whispered, "You should have let me sleep." A tremble of terror shivered down Marcus' back before the bones in his neck snapped and disintegrated with a sickening crunch. As the Admiral's eyes sunk into black holes of nothingness, Khan slumped over the corpse, breathless and aching and feeling slightly disappointed, realizing that there was no death horrifying enough to be the just revenge that he had wanted the Admiral to endure.

It was then Khan realized that Carol was screaming. It was a scream seeped with shock and terror, and Khan wondered if it was for her father. But when he turned to look, her eyes were on the hallway.

"Khan! Get down!" he realized she was yelling. She dropped to her knees and shielded herself with her arms.

Then there was a deafening series of cracks, bullets plummeting like a rainstorm, and Khan was gushing blood from his throat, stumbling towards the torpedoes with a cry. Carol saw the 72 torpedoes erupt in flames and Khan crumble into a ball, a gut-wrenching, earth-shattering, hysterical, manic, insane, other-worldly moan igniting from his soul. She was crawling towards his wailing form before she fully understood what had happened. All she knew was Khan needed her in that moment. And she was so close, hand reaching for his shoulder, heart aching. But there was an explosion and Carol was thrown backwards as the world in front of her became engulfed in fire.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Self-harm in this section.

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There was the drumming of flustered footsteps and the sound of numerous voices rapidly approaching the fire-infested room. Carol desperately searched for Khan among the flames but her eyes watered and burned, and she had to shut them tight against the heat. As she moved to stand, an excruciating pain shot up her right leg. She tumbled back onto the ground, fingers frantically running over a bruised and swollen kneecap.

Another round of bullets rained into the room. Carol cursed under her breath and pushed herself into the shadows, eyes still hunting for Khan to no avail. Suddenly, her back pressed against something heavy and solid. With a gasp, her fingers wrapped around the large weapon that had fallen from the Admiral's hands minutes before.

Just as Carol slipped out of sight, a trembling but loud voice rang out and five bodies emerged with guns in shaky hands. "Attention Admiral Marcus…we know that you are in here. We are aware that you have attacked us and boarded our ship via escape pod…that you have killed at least two of our crew members…and, most recently, we have been informed by two more crew members that you commanded them under threat of death to transport the torpedoes in this room to the holding cell area. They have further informed us that you are currently with the criminal John Harrison…that you are armed with a highly advanced gun…and that weapons specialist Carol Wallace is here and armed. We can only assume that she is here because you have threatened her too and that she is armed in self-defence. Therefore, you have given us no choice but to attack in return. We will cease firing and put you under arrest for a fair trial if you and John Harrison come forward, weaponless. Should you refuse to surrender, there are five highly trained officers here who will continue to shoot until you do so."

The five figures stiffened as their eyes rested on the rapidly growing flames that were filling the room. The officers looked young, inexperienced, and scared. Terrified at the realization that they had set the room on fire with their bullets. As Carol watched them, she felt outrage bubble up into her throat. Carol had heard the orders that were made on the bridge - they had been simply to capture Marcus. Not to open fire. And _especially_ not to open fire before entering a room and assessing the situation. But these crew members looked overwhelmed. Blatantly and frighteningly overwhelmed with their shaky legs and timid eyes - so scared that they had felt it necessary to recklessly shoot. Carol could practically smell their fear and she wanted to shout at them, to shake them and tell them that they didn't have the right to be scared, should not have joined Starfleet if they had so little courage. She ached for them to realize how their rash actions would disappoint their Captain - their Captain, who had refused to fire torpedoes at Khan out of the belief that doing so would be immoral. But, most of all, she wanted to hurt them for hurting Khan. The image of his blood-soaked throat, the sound of his moans - she knew she would never be able to forget these sinister memories.

The one who had spoken before, a young woman clad in a blue Starfleet dress, turned to her fellow crew mates before speaking again. "Search the room. Keep your weapons drawn."

Carol held her breath and cautiously pulled herself into a standing position, leaning against the wall. She found herself shuttering at the sharp pain that emanated from her knee and moved all the way up her leg into her throat. Her father's weapon felt heavy and thrillingly dangerous in her hand. She slowly, gingerly moved forward, staying in the shadows to prevent herself from being seen. The five crew members had their backs to her. They were facing the flames, guns at the ready.

One of the crew members tripped over something and shrieked in horror before crying, "Admiral Marcus. He's here. He's dead."

Though Carol could not see clearly from her location, she looked at her feet. She did not want to think about the broken remains of the man she had once called her father. The pain in her knee throbbed cruelly, sending prickly shock waves up to her temple.

The young woman in the blue dress said in a cautious tone, "We have yet to locate John Harrison or Carol Wallace. Keep searching."

Then there was a gasp coming from the far corner of the room. "Here! John Harrison is here!" And four bodies were rushing to investigate.

Carol's heart leapt into her throat and she scampered forward, trying to keep her footsteps quiet and enough distance between herself and the officers. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the dizzying pain that was radiating from her knee.

The superhuman was lying in a dishevelled heap, sickeningly close to the thriving flames. His face was a sallow grey, his throat covered in hardened blood, his hair plastered across his forehead. It was an eerie sight. This man was so different from the elegantly postured, bright-eyed man that had entranced Carol. For a second, the golden-haired woman was filled with fear that the superhuman was actually dead. But then she noticed the weak rise and fall of his chest.

The five crew members were crowded around his body now, weapons pointed at him, staring in awe at his battle-worn and motionless body. The woman in the blue dress was silent and still for a moment, but then her voice echoed sternly through the room. "We will cuff him and take him back to the bridge." With these words, all five officers lowered their guns and bent over the still figure. And two tears fell from Carol's eyes as she raised the large weapon in her arms and fired one-two-three-four-five times.

When each crew member had crumbled to the ground, Carol bit her lip, threw the gun across the room, and said in a low tone, "I'm sorry I had to do that. But nobody threatens me. Not anymore. Not Admiral Marcus and sure as hell not you."

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The first sensation was the feeling of gentle fingertips against his neck. The second sensation was a dull ache in his throat, not exactly painful but not pleasant either. The third sensation was unbearable heat, as of flames teasing too close to skin. The fourth sensation was the smell of burning flesh and then Khan was thrown back into reality. His blue eyes shot open in horror and he saw Carol leaning over him, her face shrouded in worry. Instantly, the superhuman was leaping to his feet and pushing Carol backwards.

There was fire licking across the room and detritus strewn throughout. Chunks of metal and…oh God… _oh God_ …body parts. Arms, legs, fingers, feet, toes. In milliseconds, Khan processed the landscape in front of him. The torpedoes…all 72…were destroyed, blown apart, burning. He remembered the volley of bullets, bullets hitting torpedoes, flames dancing and spreading like wildfire, and then the explosion that had inevitably obliterated his family. His family lay in pieces before him now. He was consumed by the smell of burning skin, burning bone, burning hair, burning organs. Burning love…burning death. Him burning from the inside out.

"No, no, no, no, NOOOOOOOOOOO!" he was bellowing. And then he was running to the carcass of a torpedo, grabbing it in his arms as the heat that emanated from it bit into his flesh. And yes it hurt, but it felt so good, so right. He wanted to burn alive…he _needed_ to burn alive as payment for failing his family. And as the heat etched into his skin, he was letting go. Melting into the metal. Thoughts turning to quicksand and melting away too. Sinking into oblivion. Burning from the inside out and the outside in. He relaxed into the warmth, the heat, the surrender of failure. His thoughts turning to liquid like candle wax flowing into infinity. There was nothing but darkness and warmth.

And then he felt the heat of an embrace. Perhaps this was the afterlife. Or perhaps this was the dream that led into the afterlife. Either way, it felt nice…it felt right. He allowed all of his muscles to relax into the embrace. There was no need to fight anymore. He had failed, he was done fighting. Now was the time to rest. No more resisting.

Next there was pressure behind his back. As if he was being cradled. Cradled like a baby. An innocent baby. An infant free of mistakes, regrets, hate. He found that he liked being an infant…the carefreeness of it all. And then he was floating, moving through the air, weightless. There was a fluttering on his cheeks. Perhaps it was the clouds tickling him as he floated along…or sunshine caressing him on his journey into the afterlife. But no, this fluttering was soft and wonderful, like the pressure of Carol's lips when she gave him kisses…the kiss on the neck…so warm and sweet and loving…so protecting. And he floated away from fire towards golden sunshine hair.


	13. Chapter 13

Carol was bent down, her knee screaming in protest. But this pain was easy to ignore when the person she cared about was motionless and despondent, his eyes closed tight. She whispered his name tenderly into his ear, she yelled it in desperation, she pinched his chest and his wrist and his cheek. Yet she did not receive any response from the superhuman - not even the light flutter of his eyelids nor the slight furrow of his brow. He was utterly unconscious.

The fire was rapidly growing. In a matter of minutes, the room would be completely consumed in flames. And surely the fire would be discovered by other crew members very soon. Khan's escape from his holding cell had not gone unnoticed either. This realization tickled Carol's throat with fear. Carol had no idea what the Captain of the ship would do to the superhuman. Would the Captain act as ethically this time around? She had no desire to discover the answer to this question. There was only one course of action to be taken: Khan had to escape and Carol would make sure that he did.

The superhuman was laying across her thighs and she was cradling him in her arms. Despite his slender brawn and physical power, Carol was mildly relieved to find that, in his current disconsolate state, he had rendered himself virtually weightless. Carol leaned forward and kissed his neck gently; the bullet wound had healed but the skin was still slightly grey and disfigured. Affectionately, carefully, she turned his body and spread him out across her back, wrapping his long arms around her neck and holding his wrists tightly as she stood up. She cursed in agony when her knee went from bent to straight, but she pushed the pain aside and focused on her mission. With one last glance at the licking flames, she limped away.

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Ragged tears. Hopeless, ragged tears. Reaching for him out of quicksand, molasses, syrup. A thick, distant noise that was travelling slowly, heavily…as if from galaxies far away. And Khan's eyes fluttered open to be greeted by a white ceiling, painfully bright against the dull darkness that had been enveloping him. He was lying on a queen-sized bed, head and neck caressed by feathery pillows. Though he was covered in a light cotton sheet, he was still fully clothed in his black uniform. To his right was a small dresser drawer and a door that led to a bathroom. To his left was a table and a wide window which revealed the universe speeding by and dazzling stars shining in the distance. In front of him was a control panel and a series of chairs. In the Captain's chair sat golden-haired Carol, shoulders heaving as she sobbed, fingers wrapped around her right knee and tenderly pressing at her kneecap.

Instantly, Khan realized where he was. The escape pod of the USS Vengeance. Another of the superhuman's creations for the war-hungry Marcus. The very escape pod that the Admiral had used hours before to enter the Enterprise.

The weapons specialist turned slightly when she heard Khan shuffling underneath the sheets. She hastily wiped the tears from her face and gave him a wide smile before saying in a relieved voice, "You're awake. For a moment, I was worried you wouldn't pull through."

Khan pulled the sheets back and forced himself to stand, though his heart ached in misery. He moved towards the window, hands falling onto the table as he stared at his reflection. The area around his throat where he had been shot was once again healthy, pale, and free of blemishing. His eyes shone bright blue and radiant. His face was clean and his hair neatly combed; his eyes flashed towards the washcloth and brush that sat on the dresser drawer and he realized Carol had wiped the ashes and smoke from his cheeks and hair.

Physically, he was an image of good health. But inside, he felt utterly and completely broken. He was broken. His life was meaningless. Purposeless. He had no reason to live. He was the last of his crew, the last of his family, the last of his kind. He wanted to cry but he was too empty - no tears came. Only anger. An all-consuming, burning, red _red_ anger. His hands turned to fists and the fists landed heavy on the table. With a shudder, the table crumbled into pieces on the floor and the window vibrated precariously.

Khan's voice came out ragged and thin. "You should have let me die."

Carol ordered the escape pod into autopilot and he could hear her footsteps approaching. Footsteps heavily marked by a limp. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Carol's swollen knee. It was a sickly shade of purple tinged with dark red. He refocused on the horizon. On the wide expanse of darkness speeding past the window.

The superhuman spiralled deep into horrible thoughts and his shoulders tensed in surprise when he felt Carol's ginger touch on his shoulder. So gentle and sweet against the tragedy of his mind. "No, Khan, I couldn't do that. You are important - "

"I am _nothing_ without my family!" Khan interrupted, his voice filled with venom. "And I have failed them." Then he was falling back onto the bed, his face buried in his hands and his breath uneven.

Carol sat down on the edge of the bed next to Khan, her right leg stretched out painfully in front of her. She ran her hand up and down Khan's spine slowly, lovingly, and she felt him relax into her touch. He lowered his hands to his knees and looked dejectedly at the ground but did not pull away. Carol's touch deepened. She placed both hands on Khan's shoulders and kneaded her fingers into his muscles. Worked her fingers in circles down and up his spine. And then her cool touch was on his neck…and next his cheek… and finally she was pulling his face towards hers and her lips were crashing sugary sweet and rosy against his. Fingers entangled in hair…delicate fingers in midnight hair, pale fingers in sunshine hair of gold. Fingers searching, tongues dancing, noses tickling, hearts speeding. Lust, passion, and lust…lust… _lust_. Carol couldn't taste the superhuman fully enough. She wished her mouth was bigger so she could suck him harder. Wished her tongue was longer so she could explore him further. He was everything she could have imagined and more; icy and fiery, bestial and regal, mysterious and open all at once. Carol's mouth and tongue were simply suffocating Khan and, for a moment, he could not think clearly because all he wanted was her…her… _her_. A deep moan full of longing, desire, and pleasure travelled from the heat in Khan's manhood, up his gurgling stomach, through his long esophagus, and out his full, pink, aching lips.

That's when his eyes shot open, icy and jagged, and he pushed Carol onto the bed with a snarl, fingers turned to claws. Claws digging violently into the young woman's shoulders. He stared down at her, his nose scrunched, lower lip jutted out in a furious pout, eyebrows furrowed, hair falling in sweaty pieces across his forehead. He looked the very picture of madness. Carol shrieked in a mixture of ardor and fear. And then Khan was straddling her, his knees coming down heavy against her thighs and his forearms pinning her arms to her sides so that she was absolutely helpless. Utterly at his mercy. Because Khan was not going to be controlled - he was not going to be powerless in front of her. He was _never_ going to be helpless again.

His teeth found the knot of Carol's robe and he bit down, quickly untying it with his mouth. Then his teeth were on the buttons of Carol's nightgown and, in seconds, he had ripped each of the buttons off. Carol looked at him, a silly smile playing on her lips. She was shocked by how much she wanted him. Invigorated by how much she desired him. Khan pushed his knees deeper into her thighs, his fingernails pressing sharply into the palms of her hands before he took the cotton of her nightgown in his teeth and pulled the nightgown open. First the right side and then the left side. And there were her plump breasts, nipples erect and urging to be ravished. The superhuman's eyes met the golden-haired woman's eyes for a brief second - his eyes narrowed and glistening, her eyes wide and wanting - before his teeth were on her nipples and he was biting. His tongue exploring, showering her in nips and kisses. Bites and kisses travelling from her nipples to her breasts to her breastbone and down her abdomen to her belly button where his tongue dipped and searched and sucked some more. Carol's head was thrown back, mouth open, body vibrating, and then she was uttering his name in breathless whimpers. "Khaaaan…oh Khaaaannnnn….Khaaaannnn…oh oh oh Khaaaaaaaaannnnnnnn."

But then Khan pulled back and when Carol looked into his eyes, they were no longer blue orbs of ocean waves and ice. No, his eyes had morphed into the deep dungeons of a volcano. Tumbling red and burning lava. His eyes narrowed and his voice carried out in a growing rumble, the volcano ready to erupt and unleash its fury. "Dr. Marcus…you will pay for your father's sins."

A pillow was thrown over Carol's head violently. Fabric rushing into her mouth, her nostrils, the air she breathed, her lungs. Far too much fabric. She pushed up against the pillow but the hands which held it down were so powerful, so vengeful, flowing red lava and molten rock spewing hatred and pain and hurt. It was hopeless. She could never muster the strength necessary to move those hands. Her mouth tasted of fabric, her eyes stung of fabric, her lungs ached of fabric, her mind churned with the smell of fabric. The excruciating throb of her knee was nothing next to this new pain. It was all too unbelievable. Everything had spiralled out of control. She was going to die for the actions of her father, a man she hardly knew. Ridiculous. Ludicrous. Outrageous. For an instant, Carol's heart dropped. But then her heart resurfaced and thundered against her chest. She found her voice among the dizzying smell and taste and thought of fabric. From the depths of the pillow, her words came, raspy but persistent:

"If...you're...going...to...kill...me...look...me. ..in...the...eye...when...you...do...it...you...bastard."


	14. Chapter 14

When Khan had been chosen to rule his people, he had stood in front of them, tall and proud, face tense with intellect and knowledge, and had uttered these words. "When you kill someone, you must do it the right way. You must look them in the eye. The eyes are the very windows to the soul. Look them in the eye and you can see their terror, their agony, their pain…and, in return, they can see the raw hate you hold for them, their absolute inferiority, the reason they deserve to die. The only honourable way to kill someone is to look them in the eye as you do it." And in that moment, as his people had erupted in tumultuous cheers, he had felt proud and completely, unshakeably confident.

But in this moment, in the here and now, as he pressed the pillow against Carol's golden head, his heart faltered. If truth be told, he did not want to look into the gentle blue eyes of the woman beneath him, fearing what he would find there. Would it be care turned to disbelief? A sense of excruciating betrayal? Love burning into hate?

And perhaps even more than fearing what he would find in Carol's sweet blue orbs, Khan worried about what his _own_ eyes would reveal to _her_. Would Carol realize that he had allowed himself to foolishly and hopelessly grow fond of her? That he was ever-thankful for her help? That he absolutely loved her but hated her genes beyond comprehension? That she made him weak in a way no ordinary human should? That though it satisfied a part of him to kill her, it also shattered a deeper side of his soul?

As Carol's words carried heavily and painfully from beneath the pillow, Khan found himself throwing the item away from her beautiful face. And as the pillow crashed thunderously against the wall of the escape pod, the vessel rocked precariously and Khan felt something shake within himself. This something…this sensation…he could not describe it or explain it. Was it anger at allowing himself to be overpowered by this ordinary human yet again? Or was it the overwhelming effect of love overriding his anger, his hurt, and his lust for revenge? Did he need Carol more than he needed retribution?

He looked into her eyes then. Her breaths were noisy and shuddering, her skin had turned a sickly shade of grey, and her lips were trembling and dry. But, though her eyes were glassy, they remained focused on the present - and the look she gave him was not one of betrayal, hurt, anger, or sadness. It was a look of sheer and utter understanding. She understood him. Understood his pain. Understood his loss. And she accepted it…all of it…the anger, the grief, the hatred, the passion…the overwhelmingness that was Khan. In that moment, Khan realized that though Carol was not a superhuman, she was the most extraordinary person he had ever met. And yes, he needed her. He crumpled into her chest, warm tears pouring from his eyes and flowing in rivulets down her shoulders. He felt her breathing slow down and calm to a normal pace, and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest soothed him and calmed his tears.

"I'm sorry. Truly, I'm sorry. I'm a monster," he whispered mournfully into her skin. His fingers found her injured knee and he rubbed gently, willing the bruises to heal.

He waited for her to pull away. He waited for her to slap him across the face as hard as she could; and he knew that, though it wouldn't cause him physical pain, the slap would smother him in emotional turmoil. He waited for the words of rejection, words he knew he deserved to hear. But instead…

"And I shot my own father," she mumbled, voice weak but persistent. A small, pitiful laugh bubbled from her chest as her arms wrapped around the superhuman. And there it was again…understanding; the unbelievable, improbable, illogical but wonderful fact that Carol understood him.

His powerful hands clasped Carol's cheeks with force, but this time the force was not from anger but from unabashed dependence. God, how he needed this woman. His voice came strong, eager, and hopeful. "You're all I have now, Carol. You are my family. Stay with me. Think of what we could do together. We could set the world on fire."

A smile lit across Carol's face and soon she was laughing. Head thrown back, she was joyfully and freely laughing. It was a magnificent site. The sound of a million beautiful bells. Followed by delicate fingers against black clothes so that, in a matter of seconds, Khan's garments were on the floor and he was utterly naked and vulnerable in front of her. Embarrassedly aware of the dried cum spread anxiously across his chest. Carol's fingers ran through the hardened ejaculate and she looked at Khan with eyebrows raised and a playful smirk on her lips. The superhuman's cheeks flushed a pale pink but his eyes remained unblinking, his lips tight. Carol continued her exploration, fingers tracing the sharp muscles of Khan's abdomen, down his navel, until they gently caressed his manhood and a purr of longing escaped his swollen lips.

Then Carol's stare travelled up from between his legs and she made eye contact with him. With Khan. His eyes were happy. Swollen. From crying tears of joy. Very warm and soft as velvet.

With a nod of satisfaction, Carol placed confident hands on the superhuman's pale shoulders. She pulled him down towards her roughly before she said, "Forget the world, love. We are going to set the entire universe on fire."

Then she was kissing him senseless, and her injured knee was all but forgotten in the overwhelming pleasure of the moment, in the joy of feeling Khan grab her gorgeous hair and desperately moan her name. Soon the ship was rocking back and forth, creaking eagerly and oh-so-happily, the windows steaming with passion, desire, love. And as Carol listened to her name being repeated over and over and over again in ragged, lustful, moaning tones, she had never felt so alive, had never been so proud of who she was. She was Dr. Carol Marcus, weapons specialist, and the blood that coursed through her veins was the blood of an adventurer, a fighter, someone who was not afraid to mix wrath and wonder, someone who liked to play with fire.

And it was right. So, so, so right. The way that he fit into her and she melted into him. Khan and Carol. The chemistry of strength, courage, daring, danger, lust, intellect, and fire fire _fire_. An explosive, beautiful, amazing chemistry of burning pollen and petals.

THE END


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